King Eric and the Outlaws, Vol. 1

  CHAPTER I.

  On the north-eastern coast of Zealand, about two miles from Gilleleie,is situate the village of Sjoeberg, where the spade and the ploughshareoccasionally strike against the foundations of ancient buildings, andtraces yet remain of the paved streets of towns, the names of which areno longer known, and over which the corn now grows or the cattle graze.Towards the close of the thirteenth century there was still standing asmall town, built on the ruins of the ancient Sjoeberg. On a hill,surrounded by the water-reeds of the now nearly dried-up lake,fragments of walls of hewn free-stone lie buried in the earth, and markthe site of the strong and well fortified castle, which in thethirteenth and fourteenth centuries served as a place of confinementfor state prisoners of importance. The spot on which the castle stoodwas then entirely surrounded by the lake, which thus formed a naturalfastness, rendering artificial moats superfluous. The castle wassurrounded by ramparts. It was built of massive free-stone, and had astrong square tower, in which the most dangerous state prisoners wereconfined. The air was close and bad in the subterranean dungeon of thetower, where no ray of light could enter; but the upper dungeon, at theheight of thirty-six feet from the ground, admitted light and airthrough a small round grated window. In this upper prison, towards theclose of the year 1295, was still confined one of the chief accomplicesin Marsk[1] Stig's conspiracy[2], the turbulent and imperiousArchbishop Iens Grand. He had been imprisoned here during the minorityof Eric Menved, as an accomplice in the murder of Eric Glipping, and asthe protector of the outlawed regicides.

  This dangerous prelate had many adherents in the country, and possessedpowerful friends among the potentates of Europe, as well as at thepapal see. According to the famous constitution of Veile (_cum ecclesiaeDacianae_), which had been the cause of such dangerous disputes betweenthe kings and clergy of Denmark, the nation was immediately laid underan interdict prohibiting the performance of divine worship throughoutthe kingdom, on the seizure and imprisonment of a bishop by the king orany temporal authority. This, however, was not carried into effect onthe seizure and imprisonment of Archbishop Grand. Not only love oftheir country and dread of the ungodliness, profligacy, and confusion,the certain consequences of a national punishment of this nature, hadprompted the greater part of the Danish clergy to appeal to the popeagainst the enforcement of this penalty, but also their fears oftemporal power and the people's wrath. The closing of the churchesmight have been followed by perilous consequences to the clergythemselves, at a time when the agitation caused by a regicide had notyet subsided, and the excited passions of the populace often broke outin scenes of blood and violence. This important question remainedundecided at the court of Rome. Divine worship meanwhile was continuedas usual, but fears were reasonably entertained, that, should thearchbishop not speedily be set at liberty, the interdict would beconfirmed by the pope, and the nation consequently plunged into a stateof the greatest misery.

  King Eric Menved had attained his majority, having completed histwenty-first year. The circumstances under which he had passed hischildhood had conduced to the early formation of manly character, andto the development of his intellectual qualities. The outrage committedon the royal person, to which he had been witness in his childhood, hadearly awakened the consciousness of authority within his breast, andimparted something of passionate earnestness to his zeal in theadministration of justice. He was deeply imbued with the chivalrousspirit of the age. The care with which he upheld the dignity of thecrown was deemed by many a necessary policy in so perilous a time, butthis anxiety for the maintenance of royal splendour, joined to hisnatural gaiety of disposition, had inspired the young monarch with alove of pomp and outward show, which was often censured as ostentatiousvanity. The earnest solemnity with which he assumed the regal sceptreindicated a manly and resolute temper, early disciplined to firmness inthe school of adversity; and the boldness with which he issued hisfirst royal mandates bespoke a master spirit, conscious of kindredaffinity with Waldemar the Victorious, the model as well as theancestor of the young king,[3] Eric's first exercise of royal power wasa bold attempt to assert the authority of his crown against themightiest of earthly potentates, who from St. Peter's chair swayedkings as well as people in all Christian lands. This the young monarchdared to do, even at a time when his personal happiness was in a greatmeasure dependent on the favour of the papal see. He had despatched hisoldest and most experienced councillor of state, Ion Little, as well asDrost Hessel[4], to Rome, to justify as an act of lawful self-defencethe proceedings against the archbishop, contrary to ecclesiastical law,and to demand his condemnation as a traitor to the crown. But besidesthis important mission, the aged councillor was entrusted with another,which at any other time would not have been attended with difficulty,although at the present juncture its favourable issue seemed doubtful,in proportion to its being of moment to the king. Little had beencommissioned to obtain from the pope, and forward to Denmark with allpossible dispatch, the long promised dispensation, empowering Eric towed the beautiful princess Ingeborg of Sweden, to whom he had beenbetrothed in infancy, and had long loved as the companion of hischildhood, and whom he now adored with all the devotedness and fervourof first and youthful love.

  While the Danish embassy was detained at the papal court by all theartifices of tedious investigation and diplomatic ambiguity, the papalnuncio, Cardinal Isarnus, had been dispatched to Denmark, for thepurpose of threatening the young Danish sovereign with excommunicationin case he should refuse to release the archbishop unconditionally fromimprisonment. The wily cardinal brought with him no letter from thepope touching the dispensation and permission for the royal marriage;but expressed himself on the subject in so dubious and enigmatical amanner, that it was evident the court of Rome designed to work upon theinexperienced monarch's feelings in a matter so nearly concerning hispersonal happiness, in order the more effectually to secure hissubmission to papal authority and his clemency towards theecclesiastical offender at Sjoeberg.

  This mode of proceeding, however, was so far from producing, itsintended effect on the young and impetuous King Eric, that it appearedto rouse him to such a pertinacious defiance of papal authority, asmight be followed by dangerous consequences both to himself and thekingdom. The affair still remained undecided--the cardinal had quittedDenmark with fearful menaces, and was now at Lubec.

  The haughty Archbishop Grand, who was alone the cause of this suspenseand impending danger, was detained meanwhile in close captivity. Duringthe first thirty-six weeks of his imprisonment he was confined inchains in the dark, deep, subterranean dungeon of the tower, and wasleft to suffer great misery and want, although most persons acquittedthe young king (then in his minority) of having been accessary to thisseverity of treatment. The archbishop's fellow-prisoner, the traitorousand malevolent provost Jacob, had been released from prison on the pleaof illness, but had immediately availed himself of this act of clemencyto hasten to Rome, where he zealously laboured to stir up hostilefeelings towards the king, and neglected no means of forwarding theliberation of the archbishop and their mutual revenge.

  The preceding Christmas the king had visited Sjoeberg, and had himselfoffered to give the archbishop his freedom, on the condition of hisvacating the archiepiscopal chair, of his quitting the kingdom, andswearing to renounce all revenge, and give up all connection with theenemies of the crown. Notwithstanding the haughty defiance and scornwith which the archbishop had rejected this proposition, the rigour ofhis captivity was mitigated by the king's command, and he was placed inthe upper dungeon he now inhabited, where he wanted neither light norair, but where, as yet, he remained closely guarded and stronglyfettered as before. As soon, however, as the king had left the castle,the condition of the captive became once more extremely miserable. Thesteward, Jesper Mogensen, was notorious for his avarice, his cruelty,and hypocritical bearing; and the king's brother. Junker[5]Christopher, was accused of having had a great share in the severity ofthe archbishop's treatment, although the prince to
ok every opportunityof blaming the king's conduct in this matter, and counselled him tomake any sacrifice and submit to any humiliation, to avoid a formalbreach with the church and the papal see.

  One evening in the month of October the steward of Sjoeberg, accompaniedby the cook and an old turnkey, ascended the winding stairs which ledto the archbishop's prison and to the turnkey's chamber immediatelyabove it. The strong light of a dark lanthorn, which the cook held upbefore him, fell full upon the countenance and form of the steward:--hewas a short, strong-built man, with a true hangman's visage, in whichthe expression of ferocity and malice was combined with an air of wilyhypocrisy; a shaggy cap was slouched over his low and narrow forehead;he wore a dirty coat of sheep's skin, and tramped up the stone stairsin heavy iron-shod boots, apparently in great wrath and alarm. "Thatlimb of Satan! that ungodly priest!" he muttered, "if he hath dealingswith the Evil One, chains will be of no use here."

  "As I tell thee, master," answered the portly, round-faced cook, withan air of importance, "he talks with invisible spirits, and no turnkeydares any longer watch by him. He is as regularly bound to the Evil Oneas I am to thee, saving that _he_ cannot shift his service, and leavehis master when he pleases; you remember, no doubt, I gave you warningat the right time, and am free to be off either to-day or to-morrow, ifI please. The devil take me if I stay longer here, since--since he ishere already, I was near saying."

  "Pshaw, Morten! thou shalt stay here till I get another cook: that thoudidst promise me. But what hath given rise to all this talk about hissorceries?"

  "There is something in it," answered the cook. "No one knows the BlackArt out and out as he does. You know yourself that Junker Christopher'sfolk found the book on the Black Art among the letters from theoutlaws, when they ferreted the bishop's secrets out of the chest inLund sacristy. The book burned their fingers, and vanished instantlyout of their hands. Such a devil's book always comes back to itsmaster. That he hath not got it as yet, I am certain; but I fear he hasit all at his fingers' ends. They said he never wearied of studying itat Lund, and he knows all the heathen and Greek books better by heartthan his Paternoster, the ungodly hound!"

  "Thou art right, Morten! He _is_ a limb of Satan, and one cannot watchhim too narrowly. His confounded learning never hit my fancy." Here thesteward paused thoughtfully near the door of the archbishop's prison.

  "Yes, take care, master!" resumed the cook; "he will soon fill thehouse with his devilries, and set all the imps in hell to plague us, ifhe doth not get his prison cleaned, and better meat and drink. It wouldplease me right well were he to die of hunger and be eaten up ofvermin. Such end would still be a thousand times too good for such anaccursed traitor and wizard; but when the Evil One is in the house, itis wisest to remember one's own little transgressions, and not use acaptive devil worse than we would he should use us."

  "Pshaw, Morten! the devil is not our neighbour," interrupted thesteward with a suspicious look. "Had I not myself heard thee curse andmock the archbishop, I should almost suspect thou wert in league withhim."

  "Nay, master! I can soon clear myself of that; I would sooner leaguewith Beelzebub himself. The turnkeys can bear witness there is not oneamong them all that takes such delight in plaguing and vexing him as Ido. When he is forced to drink muddy water, and eat mouldy bread like aswine yonder, I sing drinking songs below in the kitchen, and throwopen the window that he may snuff up the scent of the roasting; and Inever come nigh his door without singing one thing or another, which Iknow will make him turn yellow, black, and green with rage. I made asong last spring, all about freedom and fair green woods, that alwaysenrages him. Now you shall hear, master:" and he sang loudly before theprison door,--

  "A blithe bird flits round Sjoeberg's tower, Right merrily sings he, Rise, captive, if thou hast the power, Rise up and flee with me; And then thou'lt breathe the fresh spring air, And roam in greenwood gay; Then speed we to thy castle fair, To Hammershuus away."

  "Hast thou lost thy wits, Morten?" interrupted the steward. "Wouldstthou stir him up to flee to his castle at Bornholm?"

  "He may let that alone while he is here. Heard you not how deep hesighed? It was from rage and grief to think the least spring bird canfly to its castle and build its nest, while he can stir neither handnor foot. I made that song on purpose to plague him."

  "Thou art right, Morten! it _did_ plague him," said the steward with alook of satisfaction. "Thou art an honest soul; I heard myself how deephe sighed: nevertheless, thou shalt not sing him any more such songs;they only serve to put fancies into his head. Thou art a good,well-meaning fellow, Morten! I know it well; but thou art somewhatsimple. If the bishop knew the Black Art, he would not have been hereso long. I rather incline to think his brain is cracked."

  "Have a care, master; that fellow hath all his wits about him; there isnot a bishop in all the country can beat him at Latin."

  "It matters not to me whether he be mad or wise," muttered the steward,who mounted the stairs leading to the turnkey's room. He opened thedoor of this chamber, which was the uppermost in the tower, anddirectly above the archbishop's prison. Here two turnkeys were alwayson guard, and watched the prisoner through a chink in the floor. Duringthe night two others were usually stationed in the captive's dungeon,and sat beside his couch, when it was their wont to plague him, and bytheir talk often to prevent his sleeping; but the report which hadrecently been spread abroad of the archbishop's sorceries, had soterrified the inmates of Sjoeberg, that none dared any longer remain atnight in the captive's chamber. The two sentinels were seated before abackgammon board, and were throwing the dice when the steward entered.They hastily concealed them, and rose respectfully.

  "This is doing duty finely," muttered the steward: "while ye sit hereand game, ye suffer him below there to play with Satan for his soul. Yehad best keep your eyes upon him, I counsel ye. If he gets loose, yemay make as sure of being hanged, as if ye had already the halter roundyour necks, and the clear air for a footstool. Now let's see what he isafter." So saying the steward stooped down to the hole in the floor andpeeped below. "He surely sleeps," he whispered; "he lies on his backwithout stirring."

  "That he is well nigh forced to do, because of his chains and thepestilent smell," said the cook.

  "Well," answered the steward, "one should not despise any means whichmight save an erring soul. It is for this reason, seest thou, I sufferthe hardened sinner below there to lie in such swinish plight._Ignorant_ folk would call it cruel; it is in truth pure compassion.How long thinkest thou the most hardened offender can hold out suchcaptivity without repenting of his misdeeds and creeping to the cross?"

  "Ay, there doubtless you are in the right, master! You have pious andfatherly manner, and even generously exposed yourself to the risk ofdrawing down on you the king's wrath a second time, simply for the sakeof exercising true Christian compassion, and saving the sinner's soul;but he is insensible to it, the scoundrel. His obstinacy is matchless.Could you believe it, master? Notwithstanding all you do to bring himto repentance and conversion, he curses you, nevertheless, every hourof the day, and wishes you may come to suffer a thousand times moretorments in hell than you have here caused him to undergo out of pureChristian charity!"

  "I can well believe it, Morten; from such sort of folk one should neverlook for gratitude; but the roof and ceiling are in too sorry aplight," muttered the steward looking around him: "under the blue skyhe needs not to sleep, either; it might be dangerous besides."

  "It was done according to your own order, master," resumed the cook ina credulous tone, and staring with an air of simplicity at the holes inthe ceiling and the roof, "else it could never have rained down on thatconfounded Satan. Of a surety he will let alone flying with the owlsthrough the roof; and when the nights are cold, a little rain and hailare right proper means of bringing him to reflection and confession ofhis sins."

  "Well, it is true, Morten; I myself _partl
y_ commanded it: but oneshould have moderation in all things; it should not appear as if theroof had been uncovered on purpose. Evil tongues will have plenty totalk of as it is. To-morrow the roof shall be repaired. Some smallholes may remain--they will not catch the eye--fresh air is wholesome;even a little rain and snow may have their use. Not a rain-drop fallsto the earth, Morten, but it may prove a means for the conversion of ahardened sinner."

  "Ah, master," said Morten, with a tremulous voice and clasped hands,"you should, by my troth, have been a bishop: you often speak sotouchingly and edifyingly that the tears start into mine eyes."

  "Well," answered the steward with a self-satisfied smile, "I was,indeed, once intended to become a churchman, and though I got not thetonsure, I nevertheless learned many pious and useful truths during mynoviciate; but it is not sufficient to _know_ the truth, we must, by mytroth, know how to _use_ it for one's own and one's fellow-creature'ssalvation."

  "Ah, yes, master," resumed Morten, with a devout look, "who is therecan say _that_ with as good a conscience as yourself? 'Tis a hardcalling for a pious Christian conscience and a compassionate soul likeyours, to be forced to play such bloodhound and hangman's tricks on apoor captive; but what will not one do for duty and precious virtue'ssake, and to save an erring soul! Such a pious bloodhound andhangman----"

  "Hold thy tongue, Morten," interrupted the steward; "thou must neveruse such words in speaking of thy master, however well and honestlythou meanst it. But hark! he speaks below there: canst hear what hesays? It seems to me it is Latin or Greek."

  The cook threw himself on his stomach and laid his ear close to thehole in the floor. "Our Lady preserve us!" he whispered with a look ofaffright, "he is calling on Aristoteles, the devil's schoolmaster, andis giving him directions about you; he swears that you are right readyto enter his school."

  "Ay, indeed, it is just like the ungodly scoundrel! but I thought Iheard another voice--there is surely no one with him?"

  Morten listened again. "Master! heard you _that_?" he exclaimed,springing up with a look of terror, and looking towards the door as ifhe meant to escape.

  "How now? What's that? What hath possessed thee, Morten? What heardestthou?"

  "Stoop down your ear to the hole, master, and you shall hear. Our Ladygraciously preserve us! The Evil One is manifestly with him. He is tofetch you at midnight if you do not presently give his good friend, thearchbishop, meat and wine and clean garments. Only listen yourself!"

  The steward cast a suspicious look at the cook, yet stooped to listenat the hole, keeping his eye all the while on Morten and the terrifiedturnkeys. He had not remained long in this position, ere he rose updeadly pale, and the name of Jesper Mogensen, accompanied by the soundof smothered and unnatural laughter, rung hollow as from an abyss, andin a voice wholly unlike the archbishop's. "Heard ye it not yourself,master?" said Morten; "he who now calls on _you_ I desire not to seenear _me_."

  "Silence!" whispered the steward, stooping again with a look of alarmtowards the crevice in the floor.

  "Jesper Mogensen!" said the same terrific voice as if directly underhis feet, "cherish my learned master and customer, or I will break thyneck, and turn inside out thy hypocritical soul."

  While this voice rang through the chamber the turnkeys lay flat ontheir faces on the floor, and repeated their Avemaria. The stewardtrembled and shook; but Morten's cheeks now glowed crimson, and hiseyes watered, as if affected by some secret exertion, while his lipswere firmly compressed, and he stood apparently speechless with terror.

  "Then let him have what he wants," stammered forth the steward. "Ifthere are _such_ tricks in the game, neither Junker Christopher, norany one else, can require me to peril my life and soul any longer. Setthee to roast for the bishop in Satan's name, Morten! Let him eat anddrink himself to death if he pleases! but escape he shall not, let himhave ever so many devils for his friends."

  "You will find it hard to hinder him, master," said Morten in a timidtone; "he who so can roar would deem it a small matter to fly throughthe key-hole with a bishop."

  "I must see that, ere I believe it," said the steward, who appeared tohave regained his self-possession, and recovered from his fright. "Thouart an honest fellow, Morten, but thou art somewhat credulous andsimple--there is perhaps some trick in this. But this I would havethee, and all of ye, to know--if I smell a rat, or if any of ye havethe least hand or part in this devilry, ye shall rue it dearly: yeshall be burned alive, or broken on the wheel, as surely as there islaw and justice in the land."

  "Our Lady preserve us, master!" exclaimed the terrified turnkeys in thesame breath.

  "I tell ye," continued the steward, "'tis nought else but trick andtreachery. To try him below there, I will let him have good cheer andcleanliness for a time; but if he kicks up any more riots of this kind,he shall below in the dungeon again: and this I tell ye, knaves! if anyof you dare help him to flight, one for all, and all for one, ye shallbe hanged! Ye shall all three watch here to-night."

  "Alack! we dare not, master!" said the old turnkey. "If there issorcery in the tower, we dare not stay here, unless Morten the cookstay too, to keep up our courage."

  "Stay, then, with these stupid knaves to-night, Morten!" said thesteward. "After all thou art the wisest among them. I shall owe theefor it, and to-morrow I shall get fellows enough with some spirit inthem."

  "It is all one to me, master!" answered Morten. "I will keep up theirspirits tonight. He who, like you and I, hath a good conscience, neednot fear a few devil's tricks."

  "True enough, Morten! thou shalt first follow me down stairs. I amsomewhat dizzy from stooping; and then thou canst at the same timefetch meat and drink for the prisoner and all of ye."

  "Come, master, take hold of my arm!" said Morten, following the stewardout of the door. "All is quiet and orderly," he continued, as theydescended the stair. "I thought it would be so--one good turn deservesanother. You'll find, we shall get at last so used to these impishtricks that we shall not care a rush for them; and why should not onelearn to put up with two or three little devils, when they choose tobehave themselves courteously, and live in Christian concord and sweetfamily union with us?"

  When Morten had attended the steward to the bottom of the stairs, heran into his chamber, and from thence to the kitchen and pantry. Hepresently mounted the tower stairs again, and returned to his comradeswith a bundle of clothes, two baskets of provisions, and a couple offlagons of wine. "Take thou the meat and wine and clothes to the houndbelow, Mads!" said he to the old turnkey; "but steal not aught thereofon the way! Master says the chamber is to be made clean and neat. Aguard will henceforth be placed outside the door night and day, so thatthou need'st not load him with all the fetters. Meanwhile let us hereget something to keep life in us. Look, comrades! I have both mead andGerman ale with me. Only get thee gone, Mads; we will surely leavesomething for thee, if thou comest back sober."

  The old man cast a longing look at the wine and good cheer he was totake to the captive, and departed. Morten now busied himself in placingthe provisions on the table, and presently began to carouse merrilywith the two younger turnkeys. The one had borne arms, and styledhimself Niels the horseman; he was a lover of strong drink, and hadrather a red nose. The other was a timid and cautious personage, with acunning and miserly cast of countenance. He sat with the dice in hishands, and counted the number of marks he had won from his comrades.

  "Thou art an excellent fellow, Morten," said Niels the horseman,pushing back the cap which shaded his sun-burnt and martial visage,while he drained his cup of mead, and seized on the flagon of ale."Thou knowest well how to furnish a guard-room when one is required tokeep one's eyes open and one's spirits up. By my soul! I would ratherkeep guard in a camp over a whole army of captives than sit here,especially if the confounded bishop understands the black art, andsuch-like devilry. What dost think of all this, Morten?"

  "Truly, that is not for laymen to judge of," answered Morten. "I knowneither the white nor the black art; but _this_
I know, henceforth letthere be ever such a stir below there, _I_ budge not from my seat. Whenwe keep our noses out of mischief, and strive to mind our duty, weshall be left in peace, and can sit here as quiet as though we lay inAbraham's bosom. Now drink, Niels! And thou, Joergen, what art _thou_thinking of?" said he to the man with the dice. "I warrant thou wouldstrather kill the time in gaming, than in honest and innocent drink. Now,by our Lady! every man hath his crotchets in this world, but we mustever sing with the birds we live with. First, comrade, sing and drinkwith us, and we will play afterwards with thee. We have bright silverpieces in plenty." So saying, the merry cook threw a handful of silvermoney on the table, and began to sing a joyous drinking song. Joergenlooked covetingly at the silver, and shook the dice. "Come, goodMorten, let's play first," said he, in a coaxing tone, and with acrafty smile, "and we can sing and drink afterwards."

  "Darest thou throw for a silver piece?"

  "For twenty, if thou wilt," answered Morten; "but I snap my fingers atdice and silver pieces, as long as I can get aught to moisten mytongue; it is the most important member in the world, seest thou, andwell deserves to be cherished. That little instrument can turn wholekingdoms topsy-turvy. I am already half drunk, I perceive, and thouhast not lifted the cup to thy lips as yet. The man who games with memust be as jovial a soul as myself."

  "Well, then, pour me out half a can of ale, if it be not too strong,"said the cautious Joergen. "Mead instantly gets into my head: when onewould play a fair game, one should always be able to count to six;besides, we are not sent here to drink ourselves drunk, I trow."

  "Just as much to drink as to game," answered Morten; "but leave that tome! I know the strength of the ale well, and what four fellows canstand, provided they be not carlines."[6] The turnkeys drank, andMorten replenished their cups.--"Know ye the news, comrades?" hecontinued, raising his voice, as he seated himself at his ease, withhis arms resting on the table; "we may presently expect the king hereat the castle; then will there be no lack of drink. Money, and mead,and wine, and Saxon ale, will flow here, as in blessed Paradise."

  "The king!" said Niels the horseman; "then of a surety will there befine doings here; he will, by my troth! give the huntsman something todo."

  "You will see, then, the bishop will get loose," said Joergen theturnkey, rolling the dice as he spoke, "for he is surely not so mad asto put the king in a rage again, as he did the last time."

  "_He_ cares not for the King's wrath," answered the cook; "that fellowminds neither king nor emperor; and if it be true that the pope in Romesides with him, the king may go to the wall at last."

  "What can the pope do to _our_ king?" asked Niels the horsemen; "hedwells in Italy, far over the sea yonder, and hath neither horsemen norships to send hither."

  "But he hath that which stands him in better stead," said Morten; "hehath got a bunch of keys, so heavy that a hundred men can't carry them,and with those he can both open and shut heaven and hell, to each oneof us, just as it likes him. Hell-gate he willingly leaves open, forthere is ever a throng in _that_ quarter; but heaven's gate, by mytroth! he locks every evening himself, and lays the keys under hispillow."

  "But St. Peter keeps the gate," responded Niels; "he must ever standsentinel there night and day."

  "Right, Niels! but St. Peter is the pope's cousin only; besides, thepope keeps him under finger and thumb, and takes the keys from himevery evening, as soon as it grows dark, just as the steward takes thekeys from thee: the pope, moreover, is the Lord's stadtholder, as thousurely know'st; and when he is wroth, he is able by a single word toshut up all the churches in the country, and give all of us, body andsoul, to the devil."

  "Our Lady preserve us!" said Niels, crossing himself; "and think'stthou he durst act thus by our king and all Christian folk here in thecountry?"

  "Yes, he threatens hard to do it, they say. The devil take theconfounded bishop below, there! _he_ is the cause of all this ill luck;'twere better for king and country had he long since shown us a pair ofclean heels."

  "Think'st thou so, Morten! 'tis arrant folly, then, to pen the fellowup here as they do?"

  "That's the king's business," answered Morten; "he surely knows what heis about; and hath doubtless his own reasons for what he does. Thebishop had a hand in the game when they made away with his father inthe barn at Finnerup--'tis true King Glipping was worth little enough,but he was king nevertheless, and the murder was a lawless business:our Lord forbid I should defend it! No one can think ill of our youngking because he can't forgive the bishop; but, as I said before, stateand country would fare better were the king less strict, and the bishopgone to the devil."

  While this dialogue was carrying on, the old turnkey returned halfintoxicated, and threw himself on a bench before the drinking table.

  "How now, Mads! what red cheeks thou hast got," said the cook,laughing; "thou must surely have accredited the bishop's wine: thoudidst right! who could know whether it might not be poisoned?"

  "Death and pestilence, Morten! what art prating of?" lisped forth theold man in a fright, and spit upon the floor. "I have not so much astasted a drop of his wine; nevertheless, thou shouldst not jest aboutsuch things."

  "Be easy, old fellow!" said Morten, in a soothing tone; "I myself drankof it on the stairs. Well! what said he to the change?"

  "Not so much as yon stone flask, comrade! The hound would sooner lethimself be spitted than speak a fair word to any man: perhaps, too, hethought it was poison I brought him,--but, death and pestilence!"--herehe paused and spit again--"I can never believe"----

  "Make thyself easy, Mads! thou knowest thou hast not tasted a drop; atany rate here is something to rince thy throat with, which I warrantthee is good and wholesome. I will sing thee a merry song the while;which will do the bishop good as well." While Morten again replenishedhis comrades' cups, he cleared his throat and sang:

  "In Sjoeborg tower a spider's web Holds sure a struggling fly; He once was king and country's dread, And held his head full high. Then strive and toil, and toil and strive, That web thou'lt never leave alive."

  "What song is that?" asked Niels the horseman; "I never heard itbefore."

  "It was made to mock the bishop below," said Morten; "and _I_ it waswho made it. Now ye shall hear; for to plague him properly, and mockhis useless learning, I have managed to cram a little Latin into itthat I learned of Father Gregory:" and Morten continued,--

  "For Crimen laesae majestatis, The spider's web doth prison thee. Custodibus inebriatis, A thief shall catch a thief, thou'lt see. Then strive and toil, and toil and strive, That web thou'lt never leave alive."

  While the cook thus sang in a loud voice, the clanking of chains washeard below in the archbishop's dungeon, and the two half-drunkenturnkeys started from their seats, while Joergen, who was still sober,took the opportunity of conveying a couple of the cook's silver piecesinto his own pocket. "Let him writhe in his chains, the hound!" saidMorten, remaining quietly seated; "he hears well enough how I mock himin the song, and that enrages him; but it does him good."

  "Right, Morten!" said Niels the horseman, as he peeped through thechink in the floor. "He twists in his chains, as though he werepossessed--thou may'st be sure it is the Latin that vexes him--but nomatter for that. I would have him hear, that we lay folk know a thingor two as well as himself."

  "Come, let's drink, comrades!" called the cook, and continued to sing,as he rose from the bench, and staggered, as if half-intoxicated, aboutthe chamber:--

  "Thy Latin hast thou clean forgot? And canst not catch the blithe bird's lay? Then dark and dreary be thy lot, Within these walls thou'lt pine away. Then strive and toil, and toil and strive, That web thou'lt never leave alive.

  "Hast thou a message to Rome? Hark! the bird sings right cunningly! Or farther yet, from my greenwoo
d home? Speak! and I'll haste far o'er the sea. Then strive and toil, and toil and strive, That web thou'lt never leave alive."

  As he sang the last verse, he fell down flat beside the hole, above thearchbishop's dungeon, and peeped through it.

  "The false knave mocks me," he heard the captive murmur with a deepsigh.

  "Then strive and toil, and toil and strive, Thou'lt never leave that web alive,"

  sang Morten at the top of his lungs, while he reeled about, andcontinued to repeat the burden of the song, in which the turnkeysjoined with loud laughter.

  "Thou art gloriously drunk, Morten!" said Niels the horseman, in aninarticulate voice, and fell under the table. "Thou shouldst bethinkthee, we are on guard here, and not at an ale-house:" so saying, theman-at-arms rested his heavy head on a stone flagon, which lay on thefloor, and fell asleep.

  "But what hath become of Niels the horseman?" said the old turnkey, whohad in the meantime drained a large flagon of potent Saxon ale (notedfor its intoxicating properties). "I'll be hanged if I can see him."

  "He is snoring under the table there, the guzzling hound!" answeredJoergen; "ye are pretty fellows, truly, to keep a night watch: I shallhave to watch and be sober for ye all. Come, Morten! let us two keepour wits about us, and mind our duty! There lie thy silver piecesswimming in ale and mead--let's clear the table--shall we venture athrow for them? he who gets the highest throw shall pocket them; thoumayest throw first, an thou likest."

  "Done!" said Morten; "but we must play fair." As he said this, he tookthe dice and threw.

  "If thou canst count, count, Joergen, he stuttered, without looking atthe dice.

  "Two, three--seven thou hast only got," answered Joergen, hastilysweeping up the dice; "look, it is my turn now:" he threw the dice,which turned up a high number. "I've won! the money is mine! lookthyself!"--he swept the money towards him.

  "I doubt thee not--thou art an honest fellow," answered Morten,reeling, as he filled his comrade's cup, "the money is thine, but, bymy soul! thou shalt now drink to the health of my true love, and then Iwill lie down to sleep. If thou drink not that cup clean out, I shallhold thee for a rascally cheat."

  "Well, then, good Morten, here's to the health of the pretty KarenJeppe of Gilleleie! see'st thou, I am a man of my word," said Joergen,and drank--"There is not a drop left in the can."

  "That's right! Thou art an honest soul after all," lisped the cook,tumbling on the floor, where he soon began to snore louder than any ofthe others.

  "The dull brute!" muttered Joergen, who began to feel somewhat muddled;"one may lead him by the nose as much as one likes." It was not long,however, before he leaned his head on his arms upon the table, andslept soundly. Hardly had he begun to snore, ere the cook rose,perfectly sober, and narrowly scrutinised the faces of the threesleeping turnkeys by the dim light of the lamp. As soon as he wassatisfied that they slept soundly, Morten crept softly to the hole inthe floor, and looked down on the prisoner.

  "Venerable sir!" he whispered, "I have managed to drink them all threedead drunk; they are sleeping like logs--you need not doubt me. I havealways been true and devoted to you. I was forced to plague and vexyou, to throw dust in the eyes of others. I will do your bidding,wherever you please to send me."

  "Is this earnest, Morten?" whispered the captive archbishop.

  "It is, by my soul and honour!" answered the cook; "you saved my life,and concealed what you well wot of; therefore have I vowed to SaintMartin to save your life--at whatever cost."

  "In the Lord's name, then, I will believe thee," said the prisoner. "Ifthou wouldst save my life, hie thee to Copenhagen, to my canon HansRodis, and consult with him! Bid him send me pen and ink--a file--and aladder of ropes."

  "Hans Rodis is at Esrom, my lord," answered the cook; "he bade me putthis little sausage into your pious hands. If the chains will let you,hold up your hands, just as you lie there! Look, now! see how well wehave hit the mark!" In saying this, the cook pushed through theaperture a thin rolled-up packet, concealed in a sausage; it wasfastened to a string, by which he lowered it, holding the end fast inhis hand. "I have it," said the captive, "praised be the King of kings!My faithful servant hath sent me what I need--let not go the string," hecontinued, after a pause; "bring the lamp to the hole--but one singleray of light!" The cook obeyed in silence.

  "I am writing a word of moment to my commandant at Hammershuus; wiltthou put it faithfully into his own hands?"

  "I will, by my soul! only make haste."

  "Thy reward will be great in Heaven, as on earth; but give me light,light!"

  "All is arranged," whispered the cook, holding the lamp closer to thehole; "let us but make sure of Hammershuus, and all will be well! Thefitting time will be when ye see me again; meanwhile use the file withcaution. I and the canon will care for the rest; Niels Brock and hisfriends will help us. Johan Kyste and Ole Ark are here. Be of goodcourage, venerable sir! you may depend on me. But haste! those drunkendogs are stirring--I fear they will awake."

  "One moment more!" whispered the captive. "Pull up--all is ready," hecontinued, after a short pause. Morten hastily drew up the string, andfound a sheet of parchment rolled up in the skin of the sausage, whichwas fastened to it: he carefully concealed it. "Hush! they wake!" hewhispered. "I must set to work again." So saying, the portly cookrolled himself on the floor among the intoxicated and half-awakenedturnkeys, and began to belabour them with all his might. "Hollo, there!now for a beating of meat!" he shouted, "now for a pounding of pepper!How come we by this lump in the porridge? It must be well beaten out."

  "Oh, oh! Art thou mad, Morten!" cried Niels the horseman.

  "Have done with thy chatter, I know what I am about," continued Morten,still laying about him. "I am neither mad nor drunk; but the devil takeme if I stay longer here!--must you, clod-pates, have your say too, andfancy yourselves wiser than the cook? Would you make me believe I havehorsemen in the pot?"

  While Morten thus shouted and talked, as though intoxicated to anexcess he overturned the lamp, reeled in the dark out of the chamber,and rolled himself down the stairs. When the keepers, on the followingmorning, had recovered the full use of their senses the cook haddisappeared, and was nowhere to be found in the castle.